


Close Encounters

by Chibibee (Rebecky_Mo)



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Implied Torture, M/M, Plot What Plot, Rating: NC17, Robot Sex, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-11
Updated: 2011-10-11
Packaged: 2017-11-05 05:47:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rebecky_Mo/pseuds/Chibibee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post "Auto-Bop". Soundwave's little 'Stereo System of Doom' affected Tracks more than he's letting on; no way is Raoul about leave his main machine hanging like that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Close Encounters

**Author's Note:**

> Originally a snippet of fic to go with [some art](http://rebecky-mo.livejournal.com/14721.html#cutid1) I did (you can see it at [DevART](http://chibibee.deviantart.com/#/d3ja9nf) and [Y!Gal](http://yaoi.y-gallery.net/view/805688/) too), but then I got all this positive reinforcement and flattery along with people wanting a full fic. I'd hadn't written a full story in YEARS, let alone PORN. A little flattery goes a long way with me, it seems.
> 
>  **Warnings:** Human/bot pairing, spark-sex, my first time writing spark-sex, language, slight drama/mentions of torture, lack of a Beta.

It'd been a long night. Hell, that was putting it mildly.

The Bop Crew getting chased away from Dancitron by a hypnotized hoard of gangsters and corporate chumps. Getting _saved_ from said mob by a not-really-a-Corvette and his partner, not-really-a-boombox, who happened to be in the neighborhood, only to get pulled into another of the Decepticon's evil plans. Getting stuck on a runaway subway train, to be saved again. Having two of their group mesmerized like everyone that'd been shooting at them all night, until Raoul figured out how to snap 'em all out of it (lives saved with dirty mop water and old fire sprinklers; who knew?), and another one (this one of the alien-robot variety) chained up to a stereo system that'd make KISS jealous, getting his circuits rattled. And a battle of the blaster-bots, and a little building demolition to boot.

Oh, and getting back to their corner, trying to earn enough coin for a new boombox (that would really be _just_ a boombox, thanks very much).

And to think, it was only Tuesday.

But even if New York City never slept, the people (and Autobots) that stayed there did. Eventually. So sometime around 3 am, Pop Lock set to folding up the cardboard 'dance floor', Tracks folded himself back into his alt mode, and with a grateful "thank Primus" from Blaster, the Bop Crew headed home for the night. After a quick drive and a stop at both Rocksteady and Pop Lock's buildings, Raoul, Tracks, and Blaster finally reached an old abandoned garage further downtown, their own private hangout spot, away from Sparkplug's NYC garage. The human pulled himself out of Tracks' driver's seat, groaning and stretching out his arms. "Man, I am _done_. How come whenever you guys come into town, I feel like I went a round with Mike Tyson?"

"Somehow I doubt you'd be in as good of shape after a round with that barbarian." Came the Corvette's amused response. "After all, I can't jump into the ring and save you like I can with Decepticons."

"Hey! Pretty sure _I_ was the one unlocking _your_ chains tonight, pal."

"And I suppose rescuing you and yours from Starscream's flunkies, _and_ putting the brakes on that subway train doesn't count, hm? By the way, do you mind helping Blaster out from the backseat?" A blue back door popped open in invitation.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Raoul muttered, reaching in to grab the red and gold boombox sitting quietly on the seat and carried him over to the workbench as Tracks transformed into robot-mode, his smirk finally visible to the naked eye. Yet another classic, intelligent rebuttal in the ongoing battle of banter between of the two of them. But that's pretty much been the story of his entire friendship with the young man, ever since he had the rotten luck of running into that light post, and desperately needing some serious repair.

Never had Tracks imagined that getting his fabulous frame dented to scrap would be the best thing to happen in his long, long life in a long, long time.

After the Decepticon's plans to build their army of auto-soldiers had come crashing to the ground (literally), Raoul had been drafted by himself into helping Sparkplug, Ratchet, Hoist into rebuilding and returning the 500 cars that had been modified. It had taken them nearly two months to complete the task, even with that kind of help, and he and the little punk had spent the entire time razzing and goading each other about...well, pretty much anything. And Raoul made sure to give as good as he got, though he always took Tracks' complaints about grease clumping in his servo joints with a grain of salt "or a pound, in your case", the human had joked; to have someone not get their bumper in a twist over his self-appreciation or his sense of humor was...incredibly refreshing.

The time had had a clear effect on Raoul as well; despite their good-natured ribbing, he had been careful to keep anything remotely personal close to his chest for quite some time. He wouldn't even let Tracks drive him home at the end of a long day, instead just having himself dropped off at a random intersection and disappearing into the maze of New York with a quick wave, and a promise to be there tomorrow morning. It wouldn't be until many months later that he'd understand the wall he'd built between himself and others, but at the time, he and the others Autobots had chipped it away here and there. He'd never forget the stunned look on his friend's face that first week when Sparkplug handed him an advance paycheck for the first month of work. Nor would he forget the slightly hopeful tone in Raoul's voice on that last ride home before the Autobots headed back west, repeating how if he was ever in the neighborhood to "y'know, come hang out, or go for a drive or something". This was before he'd patted his roof affectionately, and turned away...only to walk right into the crumbling brick apartment building Raoul had asked him to park in front of, with one last wave.

On his next scheduled time off-duty two weeks later, the Corvette was being cussed out in spanish for blaring his horn in front of the same building 'at 8-freaking-AM on a _Saturday_ '. And two weeks after that, and two weeks after _that_...

"Hey, is he okay?"

Tracks abruptly snapped back to the present. "Hm? Who?"

Raoul rolled his eyes at him, then pointed over to the oddly quiet boombox. " _Blaster_ , man. He hasn't made a sound since we packed up. Did we break him or something?"

Oh, that. "Not to worry, Raoul." Tracks chuckled, "Between his showdown with Soundwave and acting as the unofficial fourth member of the Bop Crew, he's in need of a good recharge. He's shutdown as many sensors and systems as possible in order to do so."

"So, he's just gonna sleep it off?"

"Pretty much."

"Good; that means I just have to deal with you, then."

"...I beg your pardon?"

Raoul frowned and walked towards the kneeling Autobot. "Don't give me that crap, man. You know I know you good enough to know something ain't right. Ever since the fight at Dancitron, you've been acting..." He waved a gloved hand in the air absently, trying to find the right word "...Twitchy. Like you've had too much coffee or something. There's plenty of words to describe you, Tracks, but 'twitchy' sure as heck ain't one of them."

Oh, slag it all to the pit. He'd been hoping Raoul wouldn't notice; this was not a conversation he wanted to have. "I really don't know what you're talking about; I feel perfectly fine, actua--."

"Bull." The human shot back at him, moving that much further into the 'bot's personal space. "When we were out at the corner showin' our stuff, you were getting up and movin' around every little while, like you couldn't keep still; I've seen you sit in one spot for six hours without movin' an inch. Six hours! Then there's you snappin' your fingers to the beat all night..."

"Is it a crime to enjoy music?" Tracks sniffed indignantly.

"You _hate_ the stuff we dance to; you won't even let me play it when we're driving around town! And... _mierda_. " Raoul growled and ran a hand through his hair. "When we were riding back here with the Crew, your frame was shaking like you were some old jalopy; I heard you _rattling_ , damn it. So just -- just tell me what's up, Tracks, cuz' I'm not leavin' 'til you do." Despite the threatening nature of his words, Raoul's tone gave away his concern. For all his flying-alien-robot-car friend bitched and moaned about scratching his paint and keeping his interior clean, he tended to keep quiet about actual injuries until things settled down and could be tended to. The fact that he wasn't saying anything even now, when it was obvious something was going on...

Hell no. No way was he going to lose anything else good in his life, and especially not Tracks, without one hell of a fight. So ignoring his tired body, Raoul straightened up as much as he could (like a 6' 1" him could intimidate a 15 foot tall robot, but whatever), crossed his arms, and waited.

Tracks mentally groaned; he knew that stance. Raoul was perfectly willing to wait all day for him to explain his little problem, and would do exactly that; he'd seen him in action. He _would_ become attached to the most stubborn human on the east coast, wouldn't he? "Look Raoul, it's nothing to be concerned about, really." The young man only raised an eyebrow at him in reaction.

"But there is _something_ , right? And if it's nothing for me to worry about, there's no reason to hide it." Silently the New Yorker congratulated himself for that little bit of logic; if the Tracks wasn't stuck before, he sure as hell was now.

"Oh, for the love of...! _Fine_ , then." Said Corvette huffed, and sank down onto the concrete floor, knees bent and leaning his back against the wall. For a moment, there was silence in the garage; Raoul opened his mouth to try and cajole his friend some more, but Tracks beat him to the punch. "I suppose you remember the... _position_ I was in, when you and Blaster came looking for me in Dancitron?"

Raoul's face colored slightly at that, and he shrugged. "Not exactly the kind of thing a guy'd forget, man." Tracks chained hand and foot to a wall of mega-speakers, completely helpless, voice edging on desperation; he knew _he_ wasn't going to forget anytime soon (and damned if he wouldn't feel guilty for the effect the image had on him). Two and two were starting to connect in his brain, and Raoul didn't like the answer he was getting. "Did those 'con's screw you up worse than you thought? I could try and fix you up if you want." It wouldn't be the first time he'd done some repairs on an Autobot; he'd gotten pretty damn good at it actually, and he knew Tracks' frame like the back of his hand by now. He'd need to get Ratchet on stand-by just in case though. How long would it take for the CMO to drive to New York if whatever-it-was was over his head...?

"Well, not exactly; not in the way you're thinking, anyway." Tracks' vents pushed out a sigh. 'Screwed him up'. Oh, leave it to Raoul to be on the right track and still be so clueless. "The stereo system Soundwave shackled me to was what you'd call a 'double edged sword', one of his specialities for interrogation. The rattling of my interior parts and circuit boards was definitely painful, but the vibrations along my armor weren't. The extended stimulation of my body's outer sensors built up a massive charge in my system, that's usually dissipated in...well, I believe the datapad on Cybertronion Systems and Functions Ratchet gave you mentions 'overloads'." The Corvette absently rubbed at the cables of his neck, shuddering at the sensitivity there; having the three humans riding and squirming around in his alt form hadn't helped his condition at all. "You and the others thankfully got me out of the chains before any major parts shook loose, but a charge like that doesn't just go away on it's own. I'll need to burn off the energy from my system another way, before the erratic charge causes important circuity to short out; hence my more 'twitchy' behavior than usual." He couldn't bring himself to look the human optic-to-eye, and he'd been incredibly quiet during the explanation, trying to sort the information the Autobot was giving him.

It didn't take long.

"HE DID _WHAT_?!?!"

Whatever exhaustion Raoul had been feeling evaporated as a rush of shock and adrenaline and _rage_ shot through his body. Suddenly he was the one shaking and pacing in place just as badly as Tracks had been earlier. "I can't...you let us...why didn't you _say anything_ about this?!" He cried, turning back towards the Autobot.

That wasn't quite the reaction Tracks had been expecting, though perhaps he should have; maybe the excess energy was affecting his CPU sooner than he'd thought. "We've been a little busy tonight, in case you've forgotten. And despite my discomfort at the moment, any damage to my systems will take longer than the few hours I've been quiet. Ugly events like this are all a part of being at war, Raoul; it's unfortunate, but..."

"Do other Decepticons torture Autobots like that? Megatron, even?"

"Wha--Well, not that I've heard, no."

"What about you guys? Does _Optimus Prime_ do shit like this?"

"Of course not!" Primus, the very idea made his fuel lines twist.

"Then 'a part of war' my ass; it's just Soundwave being a piece of twisted metal. It's freaking _rape!_ Or sexual assault, or whatever it's called! It's...it's _wrong_." Raoul started pacing again, frustrated at how stupid he felt right then. He'd been doing the same damn thing earlier that night, worried and completely freaking clueless to what the Decepticons had done this to his best buddy 200 feet away. "I knew I should've gone in with you, man. If I had, I could've..."

"Done absolutely nothing to stop it." A large metal hand blocked the human's next step, and Tracks' next comment blocked his argument. "Hypnotic music, remember? We'd had no clue about it when I went into the club to investigate. If you'd accompanied me into Dancitron, you would have been under their control before even realizing it, helping the other humans overwhelm and chain me up like Pop Lock and Rocksteady did."

Raoul opened his mouth to protest, but just groaned and slumped his shoulders a little. "Fine, yeah, you win that one. It still sucks though."

"Sometimes the truth sucks."

The human couldn't help smirking a little at that. "'Hurts', man; it goes 'sometimes the truth hurts'. It can definitely suck too, though." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm down. Being pissed could wait; there were more important things to deal with right now. "...Okay. Let's get you fixed up, then."

"Fixed up? I just told you--"

"But we can just nip it in the bud now, right? No circuit damage or driving laps around New York needed; all we need to do is get you to overload."

Tracks' CPU completely froze. Surely the charge was affecting his audio sensors; there was no way he'd heard that correctly. "Overlo...w-we?"

"Well, uh, yeah. I mean, spark energy ain't really damaging to humans or anything; Ratchet's notes said that too. But I dunno if you're cool with me, um...touching you, after what Soundwave did." Damn it, Raoul hadn't blushed this hard since that neighborhood call girl had cooed over him when he was 13. Like he'd never talked about sex before (HA!).

Of course, this was a little different; this was talking about _sex with Tracks_. Which was plenty different than just _wondering_ about sex with Tracks.

Or wondering about kissing Tracks.

Wondering if those butterflies in his stomach every time he'd heard a Corvette's engine roar on the street meant what he thought it meant.

"No. I mean, yes! Oh, slag it all...I trust you, Raoul."

Wondering if Astoria really was just a nutty spoiled brat, or a nutty spoiled brat who was smarter than all of 'em.

The New Yorker mustered up a (hopefully) confident smirk and walked up in between Tracks' legs, laying a hand on the Autobot symbol on his chest. "Then how about you just sit back, and let Doctor Raoul make it all better, huh?"

Oh, Primus, Raoul speaking that way while he was in this condition wasn't fair _at all_. He didn't even get to reply before his traitorous body chose to answer for him, lowering the car roof that was his chestplate like a drawbridge. He knew the young mechanic could feel his frame shaking again as he silently climbed into the hollow of his chestplate, the charge within him humming with anticipation and nerves.

Now all that stood between his sharp-tongued, passionate little human and the core of his existence were the heavy doors sealing his spark chamber from the outside world...which Raoul seemed to be having a serious staring contest with. Finally, he looked up to meet Tracks' optics.

"Open sez me?"

"Wrong password, please try again." Really, he had to at least try to save face here.

"Open sez me, please."

...

Raoul blinked and opened his eyes slowly; they were still protesting against the sudden brilliant light that cut through the dark, decrepit garage. Finally, his vision adjusted, and he was able to look directly at the source of the blue-white light. The files Ratchet had given him were helpful, but he'd always learnt much better in a hands-on scenario, and he'd never worked on this part of an Autobot before. To be honest, he'd kinda been expecting a pair of giant Double-A batteries or something. But this?

If he were a book-smart kinda guy, he'd probably be able to describe it with a bunch of flowery words, all poetic-like and stuff. The human watched as shocks of neon white lightning flickered absently through and around a blueish sphere of...electricity? Light? Both? It pulsed excitedly, belying anything Tracks might try to say about being 'perfectly fine'. He could swear his own heart was beating along to the rhythm.

Jesus.

This was Tracks' heart. His freakin' _soul_ , for God's sake.

His spark.

With lightning speed, the latino boy leaned away from Tracks' chest and quickly tugged off his worn leather gloves, tossing them over to lay on the Autobot's thigh. As an afterthought, the brown leather jacket followed. No way in hell he was going to touch something so... important (beautiful), with those dirty, ratty gloves on his hands.

Plus, he was starting to feel a little warm, November nights be damned.

Now feeling a bit more comfortable, Raoul carefully shuffled forward on the lowered Corvette cab, feeling the robotic body stiffen slightly as he placed a hand alongside the spark chamber for balance. He was barely a foot away from his alien friend's spark. It'd be so easy to just lift his hand and touch...A light weight suddenly pressed against his back; Tracks' hand was curled against him. Not pushing him forward, nor pulling him away. Just there. Raoul couldn't help shivering a little at the touch.

Book-smart or not, the New York punk wasn't stupid; not even close to it, really. He knew this would change everything.

"Th-this _really_ isn't necessary, Raoul. Given a few days, the energy will eventually dissipate on it's own, and--"

Hadn't they gone through all that already? "And you'll be suffering from 'blue bolts' the whole damn time, getting your systems screwed up and everything." Damn that bastard Soundwave. If he ever got his shot at that Decepticreep... _penche bastardo_. "Shut up."

He also knew part of him was hoping things would change.

The next protest was barely audible to humans ears, even at this close range; "Raoul...you don't have to do this."

Hope was a new thing for him.

"I know."

Raoul reached out to the light.

As much as he'd tried to prepare himself for the first brush of the human's fingers, Tracks couldn't help the soft "Oh..." that escaped his vocalizer. Over his lifetime, the Autobot had a few lovers directly touch his spark; Cybertronian hands were so smooth, metal molded and formed into the perfect shape for maximum strength and grip. There may be the occasional scratch on a mech, but the only real deviations from it's curved shape the joints which allowed their fingers to move and grasp. But human hands were anything but smooth; they had fingerprints. Wrinkles in the palms where the skin would give to movement, and calluses on the heel of their thumb. Thousands of whorls, deltas and ridges, the lightest brushing of hair on the backs of the hands, with smooth, strong fingernails crowning the top of each digit...

"You okay, man?"

And right now, Raoul 's hand was touching his spark like they were designed for it. His own personal identifying marks were tickling and teasing his core as bone-hard nails scratched lightly against it, like the best buffing cloth never created. Then the fingers moved, pressing a little deeper into his spark, spreading open and curling just slightly in the vapor, and Tracks shuddered, groaning over the growl of his own engine.

Well there wasn't any mistaking that tone in the 'bot's voice; he was doing _something_ right here. Raoul let out the breath he'd been holding, and flexed his fingers again experimentally. So weird; the spark wasn't really solid, but it seemed...heavy. He could feel the energy clinging to his fingertips; it almost reminded him of walking through a fog machine's mist, only more tingly. The sensation was giving him goosebumps. "Tracks...hey, Tracks. Tell me what you need, buddy; what am I doing here?"

Tracks' unoccupied hand curled into a fist on the concrete as Raoul pulled his own hand out slightly, leaving the thumb dipping deeper into the nucleus while the fingers just brushed over the outer particles. "Ah! You can l-look for a surge, try to connect to it. But this...this is good too." His usually vast, prim vocabulary wasn't co-operating at the moment, especially not now that the human's other hand had begun to absently stroke at the outer ridge of his spark chamber. "Mmm, _so_ good." Oh, he needed this. Why had he been so determined to glitch for days, when he had someone willing to do _this_ for him? "Always so good to me..." he mumbled aloud as his optics dimmed, helm tilting back into the shade of his carapace.

Raoul didn't respond to that, just quickly raked his fingers deeply through the blue light for a distraction. It worked, and when Tracks cried out and spread his legs slightly, he quickly shifted his own body to get more comfortable. God, he was hard; he'd been hard since he got up onto the chestplate (and Tracks was going to deal with this feeling for days? Yeah, _right_.), and those goosebump-inducing tingles were spreading out long past his arm now. Every time the spark pulsed around his hand, it was like he could feel the wave trickling down his spine like water and over his shoulders, past his collarbone and down his chest to brush against his nipples.

Hearing the Corvette talking like that sure as hell wasn't helping; the pompous, tinny voice usually spouting 4-syllable words being reduced to gasps and unguarded compliments over his touch. What he wouldn't give to touch _himself_ right now, or even just unbutton his jeans, to ease the pressure. But if he did get his hands down there, he doubted he could stop himself, and Tracks already been teased to torture once today...the human gripped at the side of the spark chamber and bit down on his cheeks to swallow the moan. _Fuck_.

The brief loss of focus had the human's strokes sweeping wide inside Tracks, knuckles accidentally rubbing over wires and tubes running along the chamber walls while the wrist jabbed through the core. The sharp sound of his engine roaring in approval was more than enough hint to work on them as well. The Corvette keened at the double stimulation as his wires were stroked and pinched expertly, his spark teased by the slow jerking movements. "Oh, oh yes! Just like that; there's a-a coil, too. Nghhh." He was panting now, internal fans unable to keep up with his overheating systems, and Tracks' could feel the energy building in him, pulsing so much faster now, and...

A bright streak of white lightning crackled from the core of his spark, the end of it grounding directly against Raoul's forearm. And suddenly, his own static-laden cry was joined by a strangled shout echoing in the garage.

"Ohholy _shit_!" Raoul nearly lost his balance at the sudden burst of pleasure ripping through him, body arching back into Tracks' hand as that tingling wave heaved forward and engulfed his body. He groaned deep in his chest as the pulses went straight to his throbbing cock, feeling dribbles of pre-come running down it's length, staining his boxers. Trying to catch his breath, the human pressed his face against the crook of the arm supporting his weight. God...was that a surge? The thing Tracks had mentioned? Having regained something imitating control, the human dragged his eyelids open and glanced at the spark. The flashes of white lightning were more frequent now, and they seemed to have discovered his presence in the chamber. While before the smaller shocks simply flickered in the Autobot's core at random, they now anchored themselves to his arm. A quick flick of his hand had the jolts snapping and crackling as they swept over his wrist, licking hotly at the sensitive skin between his fingers. The move had the human shuddering along with the 'bot, adding a deeper bass note to the gentler tremors dancing over his body.

Tracks whined loudly and pressed Raoul closer to his chest as the mechanic doubled up his efforts, quickly skirting the hand supporting him along the inner walls of the chamber as the other squeezed into a tight fist, shoving it roughly into the nucleus of his spark for the bolts to flocked to. The 'bot barely managed to get a garbled plea of "Oh Primus, _again_!" before getting exactly what he wanted, this time the fist opening within the core to further stir the current. The earlier surge had done exactly what it was meant to; connect the two parties at it's deepest level, completing the circuit so the charge could cycle up to a good, hard overload.

But he hadn't expected it to happen; humans didn't have sparks, nor anything like it. No central core for his energy surge to connect to. So why, oh _why_ did this work so well? Why was a robotic Cybertronian able to merge with an organic Earthling so effortlessly?

Why was Raoul able to feel it?

And he knew he could; through his own static, he'd heard the human cry out from the surge, trying to hold it back. Felt the press of the smaller, softer body against the palm of his hand, pulse fluttering against his spark. Tracks could still hear the rise and fall of the young man's quickening breath, the rumble of bitten back moans at at every twitch of his own nimble fingers, body trying to contain the sharp rise of his own ecstasy...

Feeling it, nothing. Primus above, his Raoul was _enjoying_ it.

He was doomed.

Completely, utterly screwed; hooking up with some normal, _human_ girl was never going to top this insane, out-of-this-world electrohandjob his was giving to his _literally_ out-of-this-world best friend. Ever. Raoul could swear the pleasure from the spark energy was echoing in his bones. Hell, further than that, even (and what the hell was deeper than bone-deep?); it was like comparing some dinky convenience store sparkler to a full-on Fourth of July fireworks display. Wet and tight was well and good, but this went way deeper than his dick. Not that his cock wasn't enjoying it too, mind you; his boxers were good and damp with pre-come by now, the wet fabric plastering already tight jeans against his groin. The slightest movement had the cotton rubbing stickily against the head of his member, which had Raoul caught between trying to stay as still as possible, and fucking _moving_.

Tracks' hand on his back was definitely pushing him towards Option B; a few of his warm metal fingers had somehow found skin between his shirt and the top of his jeans, and had been brushing at the small of his back for awhile, making the urge to squirm all the more tempting. And the bot was reacting to every move the he made; Raoul would trace a sensor in the side of Track's chamber, and fingers would dip just under the belt line of his pants. Raking his own fingers through the spark brought the servo down to cup his ass, thumb still rubbing circles against the denim. And weaving his fingers through a few wires in the b --

" _Ay!_ " Raoul gasped, his body jolting upwards at the sudden light touch against his balls. The shock had him pulling his hands out from Tracks' spark chamber to grip at the edges, leaving the Corvette keening at the loss. The human looked down, stunned at the large grey digits just visible between his legs. Breathing heavily, Raoul brushed the hair from his eyes, and forced his head to tilt up towards the red-painted face above. "Tracks?"

The Autobot's intakes were heaving sharply, systems not getting enough air to cool itself properly, and a light sheen of condensation had formed on him thanks to an overheated body and cool night air. Normally electric blue optics were glowing in the same beyond-white as the surges in his park, and trained solely on Raoul, looking as if the secret of life had suddenly been written on his headband.

Tracks watched as the New Yorker shuddered and bowed forward when the bot's fingers slowly moved again, brushing against the inside of his thigh. "It's-it's here, isn't it?" He rasped through a static-laden vocalizer; he could barely recognize his own voice. His spark was pulsing wildly, screaming for the connection to come back, but "If I wanted to touch you; if I wanted to _hear_ you..." And oh Primus, how he wanted that. He trailed two fingers up the soft jean-clad flesh towards the place just between the young man's legs, and got his wish when a whimpered "Oh, _Jesus_." floated across his audio sensors. A single stroke against the bulge in the human's jeans earned him a choked-off cry and Raoul pressing down against his fingers, hungry for more friction.

"Oh _fuck_ , Tracks..." Raoul moaned and moved along with the firm touches, one of his hands coming down to grab at the grey digits, hoping to direct them where he needed them. The Corvette had to bring his other hand up from the (now slightly dug-up cement floor) to steady the smaller body, using it as an excuse to brush a thumb against a cloth-covered chest. "Ah! _Ay_ , Tracks, _me estás volviendo loco! Por favor!_ " Tracks couldn't help groaning at the desperate Spanish spilling from his friends mouth; he'd always loved it when the punk spoke his first language, though it was normally profane. This was so much better.

But the smaller hands were still clutched at the sides of his spark chamber, and they were driving him mad. They were _so close_ to his core, and his spark knew it; flashes of light were jumping out from the nucleus out towards the human's fingers, trying to pull him back into the connection, but never reaching far enough. Warnings were flickering across his optics, teasing his with the promise of soon and slag it he couldn't wait anymore..."Raoul," the 'bot begged, pulling the man's body ever closer to him. "Raoul, _please_ , I need you to _touch me_!" The last two words were all but sobbed out in a rush of static and Cybertronian, as the human thrust his hands back into the light in his chest before he'd even finished speaking.

The shocks of light joining the two of them sang in joy as the connection was whole again, and unabashed cries of pleasure rang out over the roar of Tracks' engine. The strokes and pinches against his interior were quick and desperate, not so much about touching something, but touching _anything_ ; something to cling to as fingers twisted between wires and rubbed roughly against throbbing flesh.

Neither of them were going to last much longer; the night was catching up to them with the rush, the realizations and the sparks flying between them and there, _right there_ , and _Oh God, Oh Primus, ah, AH...!_

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The first thing Tracks noticed when his processor functioned again was that his energy flow was back to normal. The fluctuations that had burned him before were now steadied into a pleasant, post-euphoric hum, and the pulse in his now-closed spark chamber was calm and fluid. There would probably be a lingering twinge in his systems after holding a charge that long, but it would be minor; besides, this moment with Raoul was more than worth that price.

Raoul.

The Autobot's optics flickered back to life, the soft blue light from them illuminating the unmoving human still sprawled in his arms. He was breathing though, and Tracks could feel his heartbeat; was he injured? The bot ignored the off squeak of his voice as he spoke softly. "Raoul?...Are you alright?" Hesitantly, he brought a hand up to the tan face and brushed a finger against his cheek, and was rewarded as brown eyes opened and was given a lazy, sated grin.

"Heya, buddy. So...feeling better?"

Nothing could describe the relief that flood through Tracks systems at the cheeky comment; other than laugh aloud, the only real course of action was to retaliate. The smile the bot's face belied any false venom in the comment though. "Hmf, some doctor you are; I think you broke my vocalizer."

"Yeah? Well, I think I broke my brain while I was at it." Raoul struggled to get his jellied limbs to pull himself up, and instantly cringed at the stickyness at his groin. "Not to mention wrecked my boxers. Ugh." He'd finally managed to get his body up to a sitting position, when a shiver wracked through his body; this was about the time when he realized he could see his breath misting in the air. It'd suddenly gotten real cold real quick.

"My body temperature's going back down; you may want to get inside me to keep warm...that's _not_ what I meant!" The bot insisted as Raoul raised an eyebrow towards his spark chamber doors.

Chuckling softly as he climbed down from the Corvette's rooftop, Raoul quickly wrapped his arms around himself as Tracks transformed into his alt mode, heater already blazing as the human crawled into the backseat. It was then he noticed something on his arms shining in the dim light of Tracks' light. As he raised his arm to inspect it, he saw a thin sheen of some glittery stuff on his skin. "The hell-? Hey, uh, Tracks...?" He lifted his arm up to show the 'bot his discovery, asking a silent question. To the human's amazement, Tracks' sputtered before the broken vocalizer squeaked.

"Oh. Um, that would be spark discharge. A residue of expelled spark particles that burn out during an overload...It washes off?" Hopefully that fact would placate the young man who was looking at his arm, slightly unnerved.

"So I'm got my cum in my pants and yours on my arms, while you stay clean as a whistle? Not cool, man." Raoul grumbled halfheartedly, body slowly succumbing to the exhaustion and soreness that had plagued him before all this. Changing his shorts could wait a few more hours, even if it dried; at least it wouldn't freeze to his crotch while sleeping in Tracks' cab. "So you're good then? Like, good good?"

The 'bot hummed softly. "Better than good. And I promise, you'll have time to remove your clothes before things heat up again."

"Again?"

Best to take the gamble now, before he lost his nerve. "Well not _now_. But yes, if you'd like to. I have my reputation to salvage; I'm not the 'Five-Minute Mech' I was tonight. Were it not for Soundwave's efforts, the build-up would have been much longer than it was. And...I really enjoyed being with you, Raoul. I'd like to do it again." He always enjoyed being with the young human, be it as friends or whatever it was they could become; whatever they'd been becoming.

Raoul couldn't help flushing at the idea of it feeling better than tonight. His thoughts instantly turned to the datapad Ratchet had given him; suddenly learning about Cybertronian anatomy had a whole new bright side to it. He could be the one to rev Tracks up to that state, bring him to the point of begging to overload; not that freak Soundwave and his sick little games. _Him_. And he wouldn't even need to chain Tracks up to do it.

Though he might do it anyway... if the 'bot was cool with it of course. Because damn it all, that idea was still hot as hell.

"Same here. And I'll take whatever you throw at me, and give it back twice as good, pal...after we figure out how to get back at Soundwave, and after I fix your vocalizer tomorrow; you sound like one of the freaking Chipmunks."

" _Goodnight_ , Raoul."

And thus ended Tuesday, and began something new, but not completely different from was was there before. Because 'First Contact' is exactly that; only the first.


End file.
